Chapter 39 : Cold Ground

Angela cautiously pushed open the door, only to find Mrs. Vera engrossed in rummaging through the drawer. Startled, she couldn't believe her eyes. It was Mrs. Vera, caught in the act of searching for something. Gathering her courage, Angela hesitantly spoke up, "Mrs. Vera?"
A look of remorse flickered across Mrs. Vera's face as she turned towards Angela. "Oh, dear Angela, I apologize for intruding without your permission," she expressed, her voice tinged with regret. It was evident that she had a clear purpose in mind as she delved into the contents of the dresser drawer.
Curiosity tinged with concern, Angela asked gently, "What is it that you're searching for in there, Mrs. Vera?"
A heavy sigh escaped Mrs. Vera's lips as she replied, her voice tinged with sadness, "I've been searching for Esmeralda's picture, Angela. Have you come across any photo albums or photographs of her?" A shadow of distress clouded her features, revealing the depth of her longing.
"I found an album of hers," Angela revealed, concealing Esmeralda's photo album beneath the mattress before retrieving it and handing it to Mrs. Vera. With a mix of anticipation and melancholy, Leonardo's mother began to leaf through the pages, finally settling on a photograph of Esmeralda. A gentle smile graced her face as she held it delicately. "This one, I like," she murmured.
Mrs. Vera had chosen a picture of Esmeralda captured beneath a tree, clutching something pink. Her expression turned somber as she stared at the photograph. "She was exquisite and yet so lonely."
"And innocent," Angela added softly, sharing in the poignant reminiscence. "What was she holding in the picture, Mrs. Vera?"
"It's her diary," Mrs. Vera explained, her voice filled with quiet reverence. "She carried that pink diary everywhere, and everyone wondered what she poured into those pages." Her voice quivered with emotion as she recalled the past with Esmeralda. "When she took her own life, it shattered our family," she almost whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.
Taking a diplomatic approach, Angela ventured to ask, "Do you believe she ended her own life, Mrs. Vera?"
Mrs. Vera nodded, her gaze filled with a mixture of sadness and acceptance. "Yes," she replied, her voice laden with the weight of regret. "She felt alienated within this family, particularly from me and Leonardo. She believed she was to blame for standing in the way of their blossoming relationship. In her eyes, they were too young to be tied down. All she yearned for was a daughter, not a daughter-in-law. 'I was selfish back then,' she confessed, her voice trembling. 'Part of her demise lies on my shoulders.' Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, which she fought to suppress. 'It's late, you should get some rest.'"
As the heaviness of their shared revelations hung in the air, Angela acknowledged the significance of this painful chapter in their lives. With a solemn nod, she whispered, "Thank you, Mrs. Vera. Goodnight."

A few minutes passed in contemplative silence after their conversation, and Mrs. Vera quietly excused herself, retiring to her room with the solitary picture she had taken from Esmeralda's album. Left alone, Angela continued to flip through the album, her fingers tracing the memories captured within its pages. Something peculiar caught her attention – all of Esmeralda's pictures seemed to be stolen shots. Someone had clandestinely captured these moments. The question lingered in her mind: Who could have taken these pictures?
As Angela pondered the mysterious photographer, her thoughts shifted to the spare key to the pink room that Mrs. Vera seemed to possess. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she couldn't help but wonder why Mrs. Vera had access to a room that had been off-limits for so long. Her mind harkened back to the sighting she had days ago when she had glimpsed someone inside the forbidden room. It suddenly dawned on her – it must have been Mrs. Vera herself. The pieces of the puzzle began to align.
Deep in thought, Angela held the open album close to her chest as she succumbed to sleep. Dreams intertwined with the images captured within the pages, dancing through her subconscious.

The following morning, after a leisurely breakfast, Angela decided to explore the orchards. Following an instinctual pull, she found herself standing beneath the very tree where Esmeralda had been photographed. Gazing up at its branches, Angela whispered, "So, this is your favorite tree." She leaned against it, mirroring Esmeralda's pose from the photo. The rustling leaves whispered their secrets in response.
Amidst the serenity of the orchard, a muffled sound reached Angela's ears, carried by the wind. Suppressed sobs mingled with the breeze, urging her to investigate. Following the sound, she weaved through the foliage until she stumbled upon a secluded spot. And there, to her surprise, was Mrs. Vera, standing on the forbidden veranda. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched Esmeralda's photograph in her left hand, her sorrow palpable.
Angela approached her cautiously, unsure of what to say or do. She stood beside Mrs. Vera, a silent presence offering solace. The weight of their shared grief hung heavy in the air, unspoken but deeply understood.
"Mrs. Vera?" Angela's voice quivered with concern as she inquired about the weight of guilt that burdened her.
Mrs. Vera remained fixated on the photograph, her gaze locked on the image of Esmeralda. Sniffing back her tears, she muttered with a broken voice, "I never imagined that I would bear the weight of guilt for her death. I was the one to blame."
Angela approached them, her legs trembling and her stomach filled with unease. She spoke softly, her words infused with compassion, "Mrs. Vera, sometimes we carry burdens that aren't truly ours to bear. It's time to let go."
Tears streamed down Mrs. Vera's face as she shook her head in despair. "I've tried, but I simply can't. Esmeralda's death was a tragedy, and I'm willing to face the consequences of my actions," she confessed, her sobbing heart-wrenching.
Angela's gaze was drawn to the photograph held tightly in Mrs. Vera's trembling hands. Esmeralda's solitary figure was captured in a stolen shot, her expression filled with profound loneliness. A sudden realization washed over Angela, urging her to speak with conviction. "Mrs. Vera, I think it's time for you to step away from this veranda."
Lost in a trance, Mrs. Vera obeyed Angela's words without uttering a single response. She silently retreated from the veranda, returning to the house without exchanging any further words with Angela. Left alone on the swing, Angela watched her depart, offering silent gratitude for the small victory of seeing Mrs. Vera enter the house.
The weight of the moment hung in the air, a blend of sorrow and hope swirling within Angela's heart. She knew there was still much to uncover and understand, but for now, she would hold on to the flickering light of progress.

During lunchtime, Leonardo's dissatisfaction with the arrangement of his food plates became evident. His frustration found its target in Lara, as he expressed his discontent with her intervening in Angela's responsibilities. "You shouldn't interfere with Angela's work, Lara. It's not helping. You're only adding to my confusion during lunch," Leonardo complained.
"I apologize," Lara responded calmly, choosing not to argue.
As the telephone rang from the living room, indicating an incoming call, it was Fredrick on the line, hoping to speak with Leonardo. However, following Leonardo's instructions, Mrs. Gale informed him that he was unavailable. Lara's frown deepened at Leonardo's decision to avoid talking to Fredrick. It was a noticeable behavior that everyone had observed but hesitated to confront Leonardo about.
After the meal, Leonardo approached Angela and requested her company in the studio to work on a painting titled "The Crying Lady." The mention of this topic piqued the curiosity of everyone present, especially Lara.
"So, you did keep 'The Crying Lady' hidden in the studio, Leonardo?" Lara inquired, her interest piqued. "Well, I have nothing planned for this afternoon. I could accompany you, Leonardo," she offered.
Emphatically, Leonardo responded, "It's Angela's responsibility to take care of me."
Lara's expression faltered momentarily, her eagerness to engage with Leonardo momentarily subdued. She respected his words and refrained from pressing further, recognizing the boundaries he had set.
After walking slowly behind Angela, Leonardo suddenly halted halfway to the studio's door. Angela turned to him, curiosity evident in her eyes. "Why are you stopping?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine interest.
Leonardo's voice carried a somber tone as he replied, "Let's go to Esmeralda's veranda."
A shiver ran down Angela's spine at the mention of Esmeralda's veranda, but she couldn't bring herself to deny Leonardo's request. They proceeded slowly, step by step, until they reached the veranda, standing in the very spot where Esmeralda might have once stood. The cool breeze gently caressed their faces, and silence enveloped them. Angela observed Leonardo's hands, tightly gripping the railing, his face pale and frigid. He was lost in profound contemplation.
"I killed her," Leonardo declared, anger seeping into his words.
"No, you didn't," Angela responded firmly, her voice tinged with concern. She feared what Leonardo's thoughts might lead him to. The memory of Esmeralda's tragic fate loomed heavily in her mind, haunting her.
"We have to find the evidence to expose the killer, Angela," Leonardo asserted with determination.
"How? I thoroughly searched the pink room, turned it upside down, and found no diary," Angela frustratingly replied, a sense of helplessness seeping into her voice.
"Take me there," Leonardo stated solemnly.
"Where?" Angela asked, her brows furrowing in nervous anticipation.
"Down the cliff, where Esmeralda's lifeless body was discovered," Leonardo declared, resolved to uncover the truth of the past. Angela's nervousness intensified as she contemplated what they might encounter beneath the cliff.
"I want to feel the ground where Esmeralda's body lay frozen and lifeless," Leonardo expressed, his voice filled with a mix of anguish and determination.